


Put A Little Love Into My Lonely Soul

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Bandom, Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, British Slang, Character Development, Character Study, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Nail Polish, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Murdoc Niccals, Sad, Sad Stuart "2D" Pot, Smoking, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, plastic beach era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21571174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Plot: Murdoc convinces Stuart to let him paint his nails, and so, 2D finds out about the satanist's sweet side.A one-shot about how I interpret Murdoc and 2D's relationship during Plastic Beach.[[Note before reading: I don't support, ship or fetishize abusive relationships. This is a work about Murdoc working with his aggressive nature towards 2D and his journey of getting better. Oh, and 2D actually standing up for himself for once.]]
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals & Stuart "2D" Pot, Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 12
Kudos: 127





	Put A Little Love Into My Lonely Soul

“Remind me _how_ you convinced me to let you do this to me again?” Stuart sighs.

Murdoc’s grip on his wrist is firm and surprisingly sober for a man who has downed probably half a bottle of Jack n’ Daniels - at the very least. The odd pair sits on 2D’s bed, the satanist having managed to convince his hostage and frontman to let him paint his nails.

* * *

_‘Oi, Faceache, you need a makeover for the next video shootin’. Lemme do your nails,’ t_ _he satanist had said out of the blue, just like that. And Stuart blinked, responding in a gritting of teeth. He made sure to stand out of reach for Murdoc, preferring not to be targeted for a hit when he declined the other's offer. _

_‘Why would I eva’ agree to that?’ _

_‘Cuz I said so,' g__rowled Murdoc, stepping closer - _too close_ \- to glare at his bandmate. _

_2D glared right back, unphased. Dual toned eyes widened, if only barely, and Stu should feel accomplished, but he _didn't_. When he glanced over to where Cyborg-Noodle was charging by a corner and was reminded of how he’s stuck in this godforsaken place with this tosser, he couldn’t feel much but dread. _

_‘Fine. Because you’d look nice, all right?’ _

_Empty eye sockets blinked slowly. _What?

_‘_ _M’not gonna cut off your fingers, so wipe that look off ya face. Just let me. Please?’ _

_His eyes were on the floor, a darkness spreading over his cheeks. Would 2D not be as wasted himself, he’d have said_ _ the guy was blushing. But that was impossible. All the same, Murdoc must have drank himself to the point where he didn’t know what the fuck he was saying anymore, because Murdoc Niccals and polite did not go together. _

_‘So? What’s it gon be, Dove?’ t_ _he satanist murmured raspily, the sudden timidness gone as fast as it came, as he touched Stu’s cheek, which was turning bright red. _

_Stuart nodded, mouth speaking on its own volition. _

_‘Sure.’ _

* * *

“Remind me _how_ you convinced me to let you do this to me again?”

“Well, not many can resist my natural charm, y’know?” Murdoc replies with a wink, and 2D is pert enough to roll his eyes.

The satanist cackles, sharp tongue slithering out to lick pointed teeth, and while it should be terrifying, he looks goofy to Stuart. Especially when he’s, for once, not threatening to kill his frontman. His eyes are focused on his work, Stuart’s bitten-down nails. He’s painting them black. "Like your eyes, or whatever utter tosh they say, ay?" had been his remark. Now, when they sit so close, Stuart’s fidgety, his leg bouncing up and down.

His idle movements cause black nail polish to get onto his knuckles, and Murdoc grabs ahold of 2D’s leg, making the singer flinch.

“Oi! Quit movin’ around or you’ll fuck it all up!”

But Murdoc’s anger dissipates when he realises he almost scared the ever-loving fuck out of his friend. Well, 2D wouldn’t exactly deem this prat his friend. After all, _he’s_ the reason Stu is stuck here.

The grip on his calf softens, Murdoc’s hand just lingering there for a brief moment, and then it’s gone. Stu’s leg feels oddly cold. He swallows, while Murdoc grumbles an apology beneath his breath and extends his hand out, inviting the vocalist to take it so he can continue painting his nails.

“Can you blame me fo’ expectin' you to hurt me when you touch me like that?” Stu barely mutters and Murdoc laughs. He fucking _laughs_.

“Someone’s salty t’day. Woke up on the wrong side this mornin’ did we, Faceache?”

“Don’ call me that.”

They meet eyes. Or, well, eye sockets meet eyes. Murdoc looks impressed with his frontman’s audacity.

“I would neva’ hurt ya, Stupot.”

_Don’t call me that either,_ 2D wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says;

“Are you high? You already ‘ave hurt me. More times than I can count on me fingers.”

It’s supposed to sound harsh, but it just comes out shaky. Murdoc yanks the other close, their noses bumping together and Stuart’s soul escapes his body. He doesn’t know what to expect, so he just stares helplessly back into green, sharp eyes.

“Yea, but I would never _hurt_ ya. D’you get it?”

His voice is low. His breath is hot, engraved with whiskey as it hits Stu’s nostrils. The singer shakes.

“Am I s’posed to be satisfied with that?” he asks back.

To his surprise, a frown tugs at the corners of thin lips.

“I’m tryin’, Stu. I really am. And I will get there, eventually, but it might… might take some time.”

Suddenly there’s vulnerability in the air. There’s a window. And Stu knows he might never get this chance again. He can’t fuck this up.

“Finish my nails and we can split a joint.”

* * *

There’s silence. Not necessarily bad silence, but definitely tense. Stuart rolls the spliff between his fingers, watches the way the pink light from outside the window reflects onto his newly painted nails. He smiles to himself, not quite able to wrap his mind around how gentle Murdoc had been with his other hand when painting his nails. He takes a drag, exhaling a puff of smoke and then handing the joint over to the satanist. There’s a heavy odor of musk and herbs in the air. It smells like piss.

“Sweet Satan, this is sum good shit right here,” Murdoc sighs when he’s taken a long drag, the tension in his body visibly dropping.

When the joint hangs in his mouth and the brute actually looks relaxed, 2D decides to take a gamble.

“It suits you.”

“Wha’?”

“The joint. The Devil’s lettuce, y’know? ‘S like it was made fo’ you,” he clarifies, hiding a toothy smile when Murdoc looks at him, a murderous glint in his eye.

“Ah, sod off, ya plonker.”

Silence falls again and Stu takes the joint back. They pass it between them like a game of catch and 2D realises as they smoke, that this is easy. Hanging out, pretending not to hate each other, if only for a while. It’s all easy. There’s peace, familiarity in it that helps Stuart find something to latch onto. But he won’t latch onto Murdoc. He can’t. _Not again… _

“Oi, Dents, you can move over here, y’know. The floor might be bit uncomfortable for ya,” Murdoc points out, leaned up against the wall as he puffs out a cloud of smoke.

He’s on the bed and 2D’s on the floor, and sure, it’s not divine down here, but Stuart prefers it over the other option.

“That’s all right.”

Suddenly, Murdoc stands up. He drops the blunt to the floor and extinguishes it beneath his boot.

It wasn’t anywhere near finished.

Stuart gulps, looking up at the bassist with wide eye-sockets.

“What’re you doin’? I don’t ‘ave a lot of those, Muds.”

Murdoc ignores him, kneels down and cups the singer’s cheek in his hand, his touch gentle. His thumb brushes the pale skin of 2D’s cheekbone.

_He’s too close. _

“M- Muds?” Stu stutters, as his back pressed into the bedframe behind him.

He’s terrified and yet serene. He wants to run but he also wants to be held.

“Stop lookin’ so scared. M’not gonna hurt ya,” murmurs the satanist before his face drops into the crook of Stuart’s neck.

2D gasps. The tip of Murdoc's contorted nose brushes along his collarbone, dips into his clavicle. There’s a long inhale, followed by an affirmative grunt.

“Satan, you smell good, Stu. Betta’ than any drug you can get out there…”

His nose nuzzling against the skin of Stu’s neck accompanied by the praise makes the vocalist choke back a whimper. What kind of sick game is this?

Murdoc looks back up at his singer, and he smiles. It’s a sight for the eye, one 2D is certain not many would get to see.

“It’s intoxicating.”

Stuart can’t breathe. His palms are sweaty, trembling when they find hold of the satanist’s shirt, and the singer holds on for dear life. Only an inch, a single movement, and they’d… sweet Satan, they’d be _kissing_.

Emerald eyes flicker to Stu’s parted lips, but before they can get any further, there’s a crash from the kitchen, and Murdoc’s head whips to the side.

“God damn cyborg-pillock must be up trottin’ about again. Well, I’d better put ‘er back.”

He stands up, turns around and heads out of Stuart’s room, and just like that, the moment is over.

2D exhales loudly, placing a hand to his chest where he can feel his heart violently thrum against his ribcage. He’s panting, fisting at his hair and he wants to scream until his vocal cords give out. Murdoc hadn’t even looked at Stu when he stood up, and 2D has just one question on his mind.

_Is this what hell is?_

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. This made me sad. I am sorry.


End file.
